


It's Never Easy

by Limelines



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Friendship, Gaster Needs a Hug, Gaster knows things, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Fourth Wall Breaking, Original Headcanons, Timeline Shenanigans, Timelines, Undertale Genocide Route, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9720563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limelines/pseuds/Limelines
Summary: Asgore was truly alone. His children dead, his wife gone, his best friend and former royal scientist missing in action for two decades and the weight of the entire Underground resting on his shoulders... surely it wouldn't be long until Asgore crumbled to the ground like a building whose foundation was chipped away.But then, one night, said former royal scientist turns up out of the blue, bringing with him a warning of impending danger that has apparently destroyed the Underground several times before...





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember that this fic runs on my own headcanons that are very... well... headcanon-y.
> 
> This is mainly centered around Asgore and Gaster's friendship and their quest to free the Underground once and for all. There is absolutely nothing remotely shippy about this fanfic, so if you're searching for Gaster/Sans or Gaster/Asgore, you're in the wrong place, friendo.
> 
> In this fic, Gaster isn't a skeleton. He didn't create nor is he related to Sans and/or Papyrus. He didn't train Sans or Alphys.
> 
> Just so you know what you're getting into ;)

Nighttime. The only time where everything was truly peaceful and quiet, save for the faint hissing drifting over from the aptly-named Waterfall region and the roar of Asgore’s own thoughts as he sat in his overgrown throne room, staring up at the distant-seeming ceiling. The room was dimly illuminated by thin shafts of pale white light filtering in from above, almost like moonlight.

                But there was no moonlight, not in the Underground.

He still lamented the fact that he would most likely never see the night sky in his lifetime, however, in the end, it was one of the smaller issues he had at that time. Most certainly not a priority. But, artificial or not, Asgore enjoyed the night. It was the only time where no one was around to add to his already massive pile of responsibilities, however, the weight of his past sins and the weight of the many deaths and losses he’d experienced didn’t recede, not ever. The quiet gave him time to think upon his actions and grieve the ones he’d lost, and that ever-increasing list never seemed to stop growing longer and longer.

Perhaps “enjoy” was too strong of a word. The king didn’t enjoy the night, but he did value it for the time it gave him to reflect.

At least most of the staff of the palace weren’t around anymore at that time of night, leaving him alone to his thoughts and grief, in that throne room of yellow flowers, whose vibrant colors weren’t apparent in the dim light. They seemed faded, washed out, and he almost laughed at how metaphorical the whole thing seemed- in the end, though, both he and the flowers would live on, and perhaps he too could regain his vibrancy when the night turned to day and cold stone walls turned to wide open expanses of land. It would have filled Asgore with determination, if he could have felt it. But no, that right was reserved only to humans and the truly peculiar monsters. He himself, as the king, no less, only ever knew a single monster who could feel determination, and even then, only to a small extent. And that monster, like so many others in his life, was gone. Dead.

                Well. They never did find a body.

His former royal scientist, a grumpy fellow by the name of Wingdings Aster- more commonly referred to simply as Gaster (an ever-fitting nickname for someone with such a ghastly temperament) had simply vanished from one day to the next, with no clues as to what his fate was. Perhaps he’d just left. Perhaps he’d found a way out.

Asgore doubted that, though. When he came looking for the monochrome monster, there had been items knocked over and strewn about. Anyone who knew Gaster knew that that wasn’t normal for the scientist- he’d been a perfectionist of the highest caliber, and that’s what had made him so good at the delicate work he did. Add to that the fact that Gaster was the single smartest being Asgore had ever had the honor of knowing, and you had the formula for the perfect right-hand-man and royal scientist.

His replacement, Alphys, would never live up to him. Sure, she was far more friendly, but she wasn’t… him. Would never be him. She hadn’t lived through a war at Asgore’s side, and she hadn’t yet done anything major to contribute to the Underground. Perhaps she would, in due time, but until then, she paled in comparison to her predecessor. Not that he would ever tell her that outright.

Fact of the matter was, Asgore missed Gaster, no matter how pesky his snarkiness and stoic composure got. He was a friend, best friend, even, if one chose to truly think about it.

The old king had lost far more than just his companion, though. With a wistful look, he rose from his throne and paced amongst the pale-yellow flowers, kneeling to gaze closer at the those that reminded him so much of his son and adopted child. Asriel and Chara. Gently, he brushed the soft petals of the very flowers that had been responsible for the deaths. They had been too young to die. Far too young. There must have been some way that he could have prevented Chara from dying, in turn stopping her from dragging Asriel to his doom, though he couldn’t blame her.

                She was just a child, after all.

That event was the same one that caused his queen to leave, driving a wedge between those who were once inseparable. The loss was too great, and Toriel didn’t understand Asgore’s desperation when it came to leaving the Underground- she’d called him cruel, then left. She didn’t grasp that there was no other way than killing those children.

Maybe Asgore deserved it. But what other way was there? Even she’d seen what humans-child or not- were capable of, but she chose to ignore it. How could one ignore something so painfully obvious? The cost of his decision was high, though he truly hoped it would be worth it someday, if not for him, then for the monsters trapped in the Underground. He hoped that someday, Toriel would understand too.

With a quiet, shaky sigh that ruffled some of the dainty yellow petals, Asgore rose back up to his feet, using his trident to steady himself against the tidal waves of emotion that shook him as he did so. For what felt like an eternity, the old goat monster stood still, staring at nothing in particular, until his thoughts were pulled to a screeching halt when something shifted in the darkness of the edges of the throne room. Even though the movement was near imperceptible, he cautiously lifted his trident in as defensive manner, eyes trained on the shadows all the while. Briefly, he lamented the disturbed peace before moving closer with measured steps.

                “Show yourself,” Asgore was pleased to find that his voice still came across strong and unwavering, despite feeling the exact opposite. What an impeccable timing, he thought silently. “I warn you, I will not hesitate to use lethal force, if necessary”

Tense silence filled the air for a moment, before the figure shifted again with a “Good to see you too, old friend,” It’s voice, colored by a rather strange accent, sounded pained, tired and so dreadfully familiar that Asgore swore that his heart stopped for a moment, before the speaker finally moved, or rather seemed to drag itself into the light.

The artificial moonlight illuminated the monster’s face, which was stark white save for the dark, abyss-like eyes, mouth, and two deep scars that carved their way across its face like black rivers; one of which drew itself from below it’s right eye to the corner of its mouth and the other ran from above its left eye to the back of its head.

                Gaster.

He looked horrible, scars or no scars. The black coat that he’d worn for as long as Asgore had known him was in tatters, the right side of his face seemed almost _molten_ and he seemed so very uncharacteristically weak and frail, as if he would fall at the slightest breeze. Not only that, but the former royal scientist appeared almost ghost-like, _flickering_ in the same way an old television screen would. A persistent feeling of doubt burrowed in Asgore’s stomach, doubt if what he was seeing was real… he would put it past himself to be seeing things at this point. After everything that happened.

But, the figure didn’t vanish like he expected it to. Gaster just stood there, motionlessly, staring almost mournfully up at the much taller monster through twin white pinprick pupils, waiting for Asgore to say something in return, or… hell, Asgore had no idea. He had never really known what was going on in his- _former_ royal scientist’s head, and now… well.

                He wasn’t dead though. That was good.

Asgore knew he should be happy, overjoyed even, especially considering he had just been mourning the monochrome monster not five minutes earlier. He wasn’t.

In fact, a rage that Asgore knew was not yet fully justified, seemed to simmer dangerously close to the surface, mixing with concern and a shred of relief to mingle into a strange mix of emotions that left Asgore simply… confused. Where had he been? Twenty years Asgore had been struggling, and now he turned up? Now that everything seemed to be falling apart? Knowing Gaster he’d probably went into hiding, or had been observing them as an experiment. Surely that was something he’d do…

                “Where the hell were you? It’s been twenty years, Gaster, twenty!” The words seemed to bubble past his lips on their own accord like an unstoppable brook of something between anger, relief and confusion. But Gaster didn’t seemed fazed by his sudden outburst in the slightest, responding only with a weak, almost sad sounding chuckle and a typical cryptic answer.

“You just answered your own question- I do believe ‘hell’ is an accurate term for my whereabouts of recent years.”

The black and white monster swayed dangerously, his eyes downcast, as he continued. “And, trust me, I do believe it has been far longer for me than for you.” In the silence that followed, Asgore could only hear his friend’s ragged, irregular breathing, and his worry for him only increased, pushing itself to the forefront, in front of the anger and distrust.

                “What happened to you?” Asgore asked gently, looking Gaster up and down for any clues.

                “It’s a long, long story, old friend. One you most certainly wouldn’t bel-“ The monster’s sentence was cut short by a short, pained gasp that wrenched itself from his throat before his legs gave out, sending him crashing to the floor like a house of cards as he continued to flicker in the most unnatural manner, holding his head all the while. Heart lurching, Asgore leapt forward to catch him before he could finish his quick descent, catching the rail-thin monster by the shoulders, slowly lowering himself to support his fallen friend.

                “Are you alright?” asked Asgore, concern now plain on his face.

Under his breath, Gaster hissed something in that foreign language of his that sounded remarkably like a curse, judging by tone alone, before replying with “I’ve certainly been better.”

After a painfully silent pause filled only with his ragged breathing, Gaster finally went on, “I’ve… come to warn you. Someone’s coming. A human”

                “I heard.”

                “But you haven’t heard… you haven’t seen what I have. You haven’t seen what the human has done to you all.”

                “You’re making no sense.”

                “Trust me. I’ve seen you all… die, over, and over, and over again. There are things at play that you don’t understand-“ Again, his sentence was cut off as he clutched his head harder with a quiet wince. Asgore chose not to think too hard about what Gaster had said, as there were far more pressing matters on Asgore’s mind that involved Gaster’s rather grim predicament. Perhaps Gaster was just delirious. He could only hope that was the case.

                “Let me take you to Alphys- she’s… she’s the-“

                “The new royal scientist, I know.”

Asgore chose not to ask about how he knew that. There would be time for that, and the inevitable doubts, later. “She can sort this out. You can tell me everything later.”

Going by the pained death-glare Asgore received as an answer, Gaster certainly didn’t approve of that idea.

                “That lizard… she has skeletons in her closet,” he said.

                “If you’re referring to Sans and Papyrus, I can assure you, they live in Snowdin, not in Alphys’ closet,” the king joked in reply, not just as a comfort to Gaster- Gaster detested jokes, especially at whatever he considered to be ‘inopportune times’- which had been all the time- but more as a comfort to himself. As he expected, Gaster groaned, this time not in pain, but in exasperation.

                “You know that’s not what I meant. Let me down, I may be able to sort this out on my own.”

One thing was for sure, there was no way in hell Asgore was going to risk losing Gaster once more, under any circumstances, and he certainly wasn’t looking particularly good at all. Especially if you considered Gaster’s behavior back when Asgore knew him- when Gaster was physically _on the floor,_ as he was right now, with pain, something was very, very wrong. And so, with the utmost care, he lifted Gaster up and began to make his way toward the door, despite the scientist’s halfhearted mumbles of discontent.

“She wouldn’t know what to do, anyway,” Asgore heard Gaster say, though his voice was getting noticeably more… whispy, before he curled into himself in Asgore’s arms with a low moan.

“She may. Just… save your breath. I can guarantee you that complaining will only make you feel worse.”

“As far as I am aware, I am the doctor here, not you.”

Asgore couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“You’ve been back all of twenty minutes and you’re already insufferable. Typical, Wingy.”

He’d hoped that Gaster would have countered that once more, perhaps continue the banter, like in the old days, he was disappointed to find that the black and white bundle in his arms didn’t bother gracing that remark with a reply, instead merely huffing quietly and going back to focusing on breathing, so the king continued walking through the Hotlands for what felt like forever in utter silence, Gaster having ultimately lost his battle to stay conscious, for better or for worse, though he seemed to be flickering all the more now.

Asgore only hoped that the scientist was wrong about Alphys not being able to help him.

The scientist wasn’t usually wrong.


	2. The End? Nah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. I know some of you might be waiting for the rest of this story, and I've been nothing but a terrible terrible mean fanfic author who failed to deliver. 
> 
> But fear not! For I am starting a rewrite!
> 
> The thing about me and writing is, simply, I develop too much. I'm 17, 14 when I started ever roleplaying on Gaster on some sites. I've developed so much since then. And I've also developed since writing this fic.  
> I have an outline, and I'm constantly changing it. Chapter 2 was meant to be the first interaction between Alphys and Gaster, maybe even some exposition on Gaster's part. And then I realized that was really, really... clunky. It made no sense. It felt hard, rigid, not right. It didn't flow, and I didn't know where to go from there. Also too whumpy, considering Gaster is someone who suffers in silence. It felt out of character.
> 
> Then I also realized failures in logic- how could Asgore not really know of the child yet and not have considered his options extensively up to that point? Gaster doesn't get revived until WATERFALL. That's pretty deep into the Underground, actually. And all THREE on Asgore's "main council" (Alphys, Undyne, Sans) have all witnessed Frisk at that point. And why would Asgore be thinking about Gaster just as he appears? While yes, I do have an explanation on where the memories come from, maybe even why he'd be thinking of Gaster just before he appears.... but the entire beginning feels really really weird.
> 
> Anyway, I'm actually kind of ashamed aof this, but I'm glad that people seemed to like it. As a little treat, here's the unreleased bit of Chapter 2, so you can see for yourself how much I failed this nonsense haha.
> 
> I'M GETTING BETTER OK. I'M TRYING.
> 
> also for christ's sake, the fic needs a better name. Any suggestions?

If Asgore ever had to rank the many areas of the Underground from favorite to least favorite, the Hotlands would, without a doubt, always end up in the last spot, what with their oppressing, dry, arid heat that made it seem hard to breathe normally- but what else would one expect from a massive cavern filled with magma? His thick fur only seemed to make the entire issue worse, though, as it was built to sustain him against cold climates like those of Snowdin or New Home, not this, and thus, the goat-monster was left feeling like he was being slowly roasted alive in his armor. It was ghastly.

But it was a necessary discomfort, he knew. He had to bring Gaster to Alphys; even if Gaster was right about her not being able to help, perhaps he could find a way to help himself in the lab. Asgore could only hope. And thus, he trudged onward, putting one foot in front of the other while the excruciating heat seeped through his armor and wove itself through his fur, smothering him like a blanket.

Since leaving New Home, Gaster hadn’t woken up. The king glanced down at the black and white bundle that he was carrying, his brow furrowed both in deep thought and concern while Gaster flashed all sorts of unnatural colors like a chameleon who’d spent a little too much time drinking at Grillby’s, occasionally even flashing numbers. Maybe his comparison to a broken TV- or computer screen- hadn’t been too far off.  
How was that possible? How did that even happen?

Where had Gaster been all this time?

Surely the scientist had had his reasons, he always did, to the point that it was nearly absurd how much thought he put into nearly everything he did with hardly any exception. Every risk was calculated, every word measured, even every sarcastic insult was carefully dosed and chosen to keep up a specific persona. That was Gaster. Always maintaining his façade as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. The entire situation was just far too strange. Gaster vanishing, then turning up, and then knowing about things he should’ve had no way of knowing… and all this right around the time another human fell into the Underground.

Maybe Toriel had been right. Maybe Gaster really did just run away. Maybe this was all some big experiment of his…

He halted the train of thought in its tracks. It was no good to jump at shadows. Nothing was certain. And it was no good making up something when he could easily ask the monster himself. If he woke up. That was also not certain.

One thing was absolutely certain, though, and that was that Gaster wouldn’t have much liked being conscious for the march through the Hotlands; even now, Asgore recalled how frequently Gaster had complained about the extreme heat back in the day. The scientist had always favored the cool, damp climate of Waterfall. Asgore didn’t know much about the sub-species of monster that Gaster belonged to- they were a rare bunch (he honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out that Gaster was, in fact, the last living one, considering that Asgore had never seen any monster quite like him in the Underground), and Gaster had been tight-lipped about the entire matter- but he did know that they preferred climates like the one in Waterfall, as Gaster had ceaselessly reminded him whenever he could (of course always starting with his trademark ‘I’ll have you know…’ before launching into a rant). It couldn’t be helped, though; the lab was built in the Hotlands, and the CORE derived energy from the heat. There had been no way around it for Gaster. 

Fortunately, Alphys didn’t seem to mind the heat as much- she certainly didn’t complain about it. But then she never really did complain about anything, as it was.  
It seemed like an eternity before the lab flickered into view. Despite the hot air distorting it and warping it, mirroring it upwards in a fascinating mirage, mixing it with the red-tinged rocks that surrounded it like a deranged blender, it stuck out like a sore thumb- a white spec in a sea of red. 

Even with the end in sight, it seemed even longer until he finally reached the large doors that held off the barrage of heat from the air conditioned inside that Asgore so yearned for. And, hopefully, help for Gaster.  
Gingerly, the king freed one of his hands and lifted it up to chest, shifting his other arm to support the much smaller monster whilst being careful not to jostle him too much. He hesitated for a moment, his fist hovering mere inches from the door, before casting one last look at Gaster. Alphys could help him. Surely, she could.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound was quiet, drowned out by the ominous noises that echoed throughout the chamber. Among them, the bubbling of the scorchingly hot lava that flowed through the deep canyons below and the deep hum of the CORE. The CORE was massive, a constant presence in the Hotlands. Thanks to it, the Underground had power. Thanks to Gaster.  
Just a few hours ago, the mere sound of the CORE would have been enough to give Asgore the crushing feeling he’d been having far too often recently. Now, it filled him with hope.  
Finally, the door opened a crack to reveal an extremely tired looking, bright orange lizard who looked like she’d just risen from the grave. Her eyes were unfocused, Asgore reckoned not just because she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and fixed on some unseen point far behind Asgore.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed, please come back to-“ 

She paused for a moment, before Alphys’ gaze suddenly snapped onto him, all tiredness seemingly lost in an instant. She reeled backwards in shock, all the while scrambling to retrieve her glasses from her coat pocket.

“A-A-Asgore! I-I-I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean any d-disrespect, sir! O-Oh gosh I’m so s-sorry! Please come in!” The words tumbled out of her mouth like a waterfall, her one-eighty mood shift hitting Asgore like a freight train.

“It’s an emergency,” Asgore said slowly, making an effort to stay especially calm for Alphys. If Alphys didn’t keep her head together, nothing would get done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway this is it. I'll leave this up as a first draft, where the story started, but I'll be starting a new fic, rewriting this mess.
> 
> Thanks for reading, don't forget to leave suggestions for the name in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. I'm working on my writing, so please write me any critique! Hit me with your best shot (as long as it's constructive and not.... outright bashy? I'm not saying don't bash me but... I mean... I'd like some helpful critique)
> 
> Please also let me know if you think it's worth continuing.


End file.
